VI
VI
It was ten until five in the morning and all was quiet in the Via Triton neighborhood of Rome. Near the center of the holy capitol, this area held administrative offices for several governments. This close to dawn, the streets were empty except for the large, ash-colored armored vehicles.
"How far is it to headquarters, Master Sergeant?"
"About ten minutes, Lieutenant Montesecco." Pursing his lips at the driver's reply, Special Police Lieutenant Jiroramo Montesecco faced forward. In the seat ahead of him, wedged between six special policemen, their only prisoner sat quietly.
"Oh dear, isn't it a terribly unfair story, Father? When I was summoned to the Pope's palace in the middle of the night, I didn't expect I'd be ordered to take a priest to HQ. What a bothersome waste of time." Neurotically opening and closing the cap of his fountain pen, the lieutenant laughed. However, Abel didn't move or tug at his restraints; he merely drooped his head.
Montesecco violently grabbed his silver-blond hair. "Now then, Father Nightroad, can't I get you to stop being stubborn?"
The gangly priest groaned in pain. His lip was deeply split. As Abel gently wiped away the blood from his mouth, Montesecco repeated his question for the nineteenth time that night.
"Father Nightroad, you disturbed the benediction ceremony on the orders of your superior, Cardinal Sforza, right? You fired your gun at Archbishop d'Este, right?"
"N-no . . . you're wrong. . . ." His voice seemed to leak out of him. "I have nothing to do with Caterina. We have absolutely no relationship!"
The priest's body bent backward as if an electric current were flowing through it. His back cracked as if something were biting into his spine.
"I'm at a loss, Father. If I can't get you to tell the truth, it will be a terrible problem for both of us."
Blood smeared over Abel's right pinky finger. Montesecco had peeled off Abel's fingernail. He laid the broken nail on his pen tip, and then he licked his lips.
"Truth be told, I don't hate doing this kind of thing; if I have to take off the remaining nine fingernails, though, I'm going to get fed up with you. Therefore, confess at once, Father!"
Montesecco repeatedly struck Abel, smashing the priest's face against the window. Not caring that the fortified glass creaked, he pumped his thick arms into Abel as if hitting bread dough.
"Damn you! You were following Caterina's orders! Ah? You did it, didn't you?"
Abel's cries were pathetic enough to make the other policemen avert their eyes. Stopping eventually, the special police lieutenant let go his prey. Abel's bloodstained body went limp.
"Bah, you're a stubborn rascal. Well, fine, when we get to HQ, I can interrogate you thoroughly—whoa!"
Montesecco, who'd loosened his necktie, staggered hard as the vehicle suddenly braked to a stop. He barely managed to hold his ground.
"Idiot! What are you doing?" The master sergeant in the driver's seat leaned forward and shouted.
A single truck occupied the narrow curve ahead.
"Oh, sorry about this, senor," said a large man in an insolent, mocking tone. Dressed in a gaudy, primary-colored shirt and tinted sunglasses, he had the air of a gypsy about him, yet he approached the convoy vehicle with a strangely affable smile. "Well, I'd like to tell you we'll be out of your way in a moment. However, we're completely out of gas. Senor, if it's all right, won't you bless us with a little gasoline?"
"What'll we do, Lieutenant?"
Montesecco clucked his tongue. "It can't be helped. Master Sergeant, assist them."
"Yes, sir." The heavily built master sergeant got out of the vehicle. "Well, how much do you need?"
The large stranger kept smiling at them, not at all intimidated by the police. "How about all that you've got?"
"Stop joking, open your tank."
"That's not a joke, this is." The stranger's huge arm wrapped around the master sergeant's neck. Mumbling, the officer kicked out his feet into mid-air.
"Don't move. If you don't want this man's neck broken, the rest of you should get out of the vehicle."
The special policemen reflexively put their hands to their hips. The master sergeant's face was beginning to turn an unpleasant color.
"Get out quickly. Or do you want to increase the number of joints in your precious subordinate's neck?"
"Hah, stupid." Glaring at the insolent giant, Montesecco smirked. "I don't know where you're from, you dunce, but you're a fool to pick a quarrel with the Carabinieri. Prepare to fire!"
The bulletproof glass windows opened wide. At the same time, the muzzles of machine pistols lifted.
With an unwavering smile, the giant skillfully ducked. "It's not good to be short-tempered. You may regret it later."
"Regret? I regret nothing. I have no use for blockheads who get caught by robbers. Fire!" Montesecco's hand lowered. "Gah!"
Seven gunshots reverberated outside the vehicle.
Out of the darkness, bullets shot through the policemen's shoulders with remarkable precision. The police let their weapons fall as they clutched their shoulders in agony.
"Clear. Delete zero, down seven. Rewriting tactical thoughts from assault mode to search mode."
A small young man walked out of the shadows. Mirrored sunglasses hid his expressionless face; smoke rose from the pistols in both his hands.
The larger man gently lowered the master sergeant locked in his arms. He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "I warned you that you'd regret it. Let's hurry, Gunslinger. There's no time."
"Affirmative." Tres pointed at the convoy vehicle's hatch. With a twist of his wrist, he casually wrenched off the steel door as if it were made of paper. Ignoring the policemen lying on the floor, Tres immediately knelt next to Abel.
"Are you conscious, Father Nightroad?"
"H-hey . . . Tres. I'm . . . sorry you're always . . . getting me out . . . of trouble. ..."
"I recommend you be silent." AX Agent Father Tres Iqus glanced at the fountain pen that had fallen to the floor and at Abel's bloody finger, but he displayed no emotion upon discovering evidence of Abel's torture.
Tres' glass eyes caught sight of the special police lieutenant trying to pick up his pistol. By the time the man flinched, it was already too late. Tres' nimble fingers grasped the sadist's hand, gun and all.
The strength of Tres' grip crushed Montesecco's hand to powder. Faster than the lieutenant could scream, Tres' other hand clutched the man's head, thrusting it against the vehicle's side door before he could shriek. His nasal bone caved in, sinking almost an inch into his face.
After that, Tres tore of his comrade's handcuffs, his expression perfectly calm. "We're moving out. Can you walk?"
"Y-yes. What in the world happened? Why are you bothering to rescue me?"
Leon answered, "They found Noelle's corpse—along with the drawing she discovered." He helped Abel to his feet. "Abel, your intuition was partially correct. Noelle did have a drawing of San Pietro Cathedral. An obelisk was standing in its plaza. Its location, size, and design were perfectly accurate."
"So, what? Oh, wait a minute. I'm certain that obelisk is..." The day before yesterday, Archbishop d'Este had donated an obelisk; it had been erected in the plaza. Until two days ago, nobody knew of its existence, except for the archbishop and those who had built it.
"In the end, Barrie also had a hand in the obelisk's construction. Silent Noise is inside it!" Abel said.
"Affirmative," Tres said coldly, picking up the special polices' badges and IDs. "We must hurry to the papal palace. You and Father Garcia destroy the obelisk. I will join the Duchess of Milan."
"All right, let's go!" Leon whistled, clapping his meaty palms together and jumping down from the convoy vehicle. Suddenly, he stopped.
"What's the matter, Leon?"
"Halt!" Leon sniffed the air; then, he grasped Abel's shoulders with frightful strength.
"Eh?"
A white light flashed through the darkness.
A deafening explosion thundered. The truck in front of them burst into golden flames. After tracing an arc of fire in the night sky, it struck the ground and exploded.
The priests covered their heads.
"Wh-what?"
A dazzling light shone in the window of the building directly in front of them. A uniformed group of armed soldiers ran between the brightly shining floodlights.
"Carabinieri!"
"That's not all. We've got bigger trouble," Leon growled.
Among the special policemen stationed on the roof, ash-colored shadows peered down at them: One was a giant who held a two-handed straight sword, and the other was a woman with small needles in her fingertips.
Leon rolled up his sleeves. "Two inquisitors and a company of special police. It looks as though they'd like to help us spend our free time."
"Negative. Being confined here is undesirable. I'll suppress them. You two go ahead."
"Please wait a minute, Tres!" Abel hurriedly called to his comrade. "Strong as you are, you will be hard-pressed to match two inquisitors. . . ."
"No problem." Gunslinger showed no sign of fright as he faced down an entire police squadron of almost one hundred men. Tres added in an icy voice, "Once I suppress them, I will join you. Until then, Father Nightroad, you attack the guards imprisoning the Duchess of Milan. Father Garcia, you destroy that obelisk."
"Understood. But I wonder . . ." Leon wrenched off his sunglasses and grinned mischievously. "Aren't you really asking me to leave Noelle's revenge to Abel? Well, aren't you a nice guy?"
"Negative. I merely have calculated the most efficient distribution of battle strength. You don't have time to waste on talking; move quickly, Dandelion." Tres drew two handguns. The agitated special police squadron hefted their guns, but not a speck of fear showed on Gunslinger's face. "Rewrite resident tactical thoughts from search mode to genocide mode. Combat open."